


Some Things Really Pay Off

by kierathefangirl



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Bad Touch Trio, Homelessness, IDK I'm extremely tired been up since 3am and it's now 12pm, M/M, Multi, Seborga is mega rich man, bad friends trio
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-07-11 04:13:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15964463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kierathefangirl/pseuds/kierathefangirl
Summary: Lovi discovers that one of his best classmates is homeless...and decides to help him out. :)





	Some Things Really Pay Off

**Author's Note:**

> Seborga is rich, because why not. Spain gets a dad OC character (Nicolás Alejandro Carriedo) who's a cop (but also homeless with him because oftentimes cops get paid really poorly and he's also Hispanic).
> 
> I've never been homeless myself, but I've seen a lot of homeless people when out going to events. The most realistic sign for help I saw was a dirty, can-indented cardboard sign...the least likely to have been faked.
> 
> Suggestions are welcome! If you have a story idea you'd like me to write or an idea for the next chapter (I'm thinking on it) let me know! Don't be nervous about giving me ideas...I get so much writer's block anything helps. :D

**_~Lovi~_ **

I’ve seen him around school; he’s popular and outgoing and loud and it would be impossible to not notice him. He’s Spanish, a newcomer to the school. He’s tall, tan, toned, and attractive (those are the words of the other people, not me of course). I think I heard people call him “Tony” before.

He’s sitting on the side of a street speaking in fluent, rapid, energetic Spanish to a man next to him. I catch “Papá” and a few other words, but I don’t speak the language. Italian is similar enough that if he were speaking slower I might be able to get the gist of the conversation, but he’s speaking so fast I can’t.

They have a cardboard sign, one that has imprints of cans on it and some spilled ketchup stains, and on it scribbled in Spanish and English reads “ _ Homeless, anything helps/Son is in school _ ”.

I stop just out of earshot to think. Sebastian is temporarily in town, and he complains about having “too much” money and not knowing what to do with it.

I always feel bad passing homeless people, since I was in that place just a few short years ago. I always want to do something but can’t because I don’t even have half a penny on my person. We’re not poor per se because Sebastian supports us, but we don’t have any to spare ourselves.

I pull out my phone. I know the kid because of school, and I know he’s talked almost half the school down from depression and suicide since he arrived. He’s a good guy, not conceited.

I breathe and text Sebastian, “ _ There’s a kid from school just up the street who’s homeless…he’s talked half the school down from jumping. I don’t have any money on me or anything to help him with. _ ”

“ _ Give me two minutes. _ ”

“ _ ’Kay. _ ”

I drop my phone back in my pocket and look to see if I’ve been spotted. He’s talking so animatedly that he’s absorbed the attention of not only his dad but other passersby. They give him a dollar here, a quarter there, whatever they happen to have in their pocket. Sebastian is bound to give him far, far more than that. He has almost a trillion in savings and legitimately, outright bought our house. He could give them a billion and still have more than enough to skate by in style.

Three minutes pass, and Sebastian pulls up next to me in his sleek expensive car. He parks in the open parallel-parking spot and twirls to his feet, closes the door, and rounds the car to me. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

I nod that direction. “I think his name is Tony. He’s the new kid from Spain. I haven’t really talked to him before but he seems okay.”

Now their attention is snagged. He’s stopped talking to stare at Sebastian’s fancy car and expensive business suit. Most people dressed like him would scoff, tell him to be less lazy, and drive off. But Sebastian is a sweetheart who made it from the bottom, and he’s also been there for a lot of people who thought he would never look twice in their direction.

Sebastian tucks his custom checkbook in his pocket. “It’s probably short for Antonio if he’s Spanish. I doubt if he’s from Spain he’d be named Tony. He might go by it as a nickname.”

“Maybe. I don’t know.”

Sebastian picks up my hand tightly in his, turns, and walks their way. The crowds part around him like fish around a shark, overestimating his money and confidence to mean ignorance and judgment like many others before.

The teen gets to his feet. The man doesn’t move.

We stop about half a foot from them. The teen moves around the sign and gives me a curious look. “I’ve seen you around school.”

“I know. I recognized you.”

“Uh, I’m Toni,” he offers his hand.

“Antonio,” the man corrects quietly.

I shift just slightly, then accept the hand briefly. “Lovino.”

Toni jerks his thumb at the man. “This is my dad.”

“Figured. He seems okay.”

Toni giggles. The man gets to his feet and dusts himself off, then eyes Sebastian warily. “What do you want?”

“Dad!” Toni protests immediately, turning towards him. “Be nice!”

“He’s got a lot of money,” his dad says quietly in that same tense tone.

“So?” I leap to my older brother’s defense. “He’s my brother. Just because he’s rich doesn’t make him a dick.”

Sebastian flashes a soft smile. “It’s okay. It happens all the time.”

Toni shifts his eyes uncertainly to my brother. Sebastian’s posture is relaxed and open, not judgmental. This relaxes some of Toni’s tension which allows him to smile shyly back.

Sebastian reassures Toni with one of his famous anxiety-quenching smiles, then turns his eyes to his dad. “Not everyone is born into riches.”

“So you’re a fucking Cinderella, great,” the man answers.

“Dad!” Toni protests squeakily.

The man doesn’t answer his son. Sebastian sort of laughs, and he takes half a step his way. “No.”

The man’s eyes narrow. Sebastian shrugs. “No, I’m just really lucky. Cinderella was a damsel in distress crying out to be saved; I went out and saved myself, and in the process saved both of my brothers. There’s a difference between the one born poor who expects others to hand-feed them with a silver spoon because they’re poor, and those who seek escapes from poverty that are proven to work. I’m a lawyer, and it pays well. That doesn’t make me a bad person, and I don’t appreciate the assumption.”

“We’re from Italy,” I stop his dad before he can leap down my brother’s throat. “We came here with nothing. We were on the streets for two or three years before we got here.”

Toni relaxes the rest of the way, or most of it, and smiles again. His dad doesn’t return the respect. “Sure you were.”

Sebastian sighs. “Look, I don’t like you. But for very valid reasons, my brother likes your son.”

I stiffen a little. I don’t like being called out like that.

Toni blushes and drops his eyes. “Everyone says that but—”

“Ahem, sweetheart, ‘ _ the popular kid who saved half the school _ ’ ring a bell?” Sebastian overrides Toni’s humble protests.

Toni blinks a couple times and looks up. “Th-that’s an exaggeration.”

“No it’s not.”

Toni turns to look at me. I sigh and look away. “I’ve talked to them. Briefly, very briefly, but I did. I counted, I tally-marked everyone; the principal confirmed it was ten kids over half the school.”

Toni blinks a couple times. I step closer to my brother in search of comfort, and he wraps a knowing arm around me.

“Either way, the point remains,” Sebastian picks up where he left off. “My brother likes your son, and I love my brother. I don’t like you—but to be honest I have so much money I don’t know what to do with all of it, and you don’t have enough.”

Toni stiffens with surprise as Sebastian pulls his checkbook and a pen from his pocket.

“You’re joking,” his dad accuses.

Sebastian ignores him this time. He writes two checks: one for one million (enough for a good house and maybe some other things), and one for a hundred billion. Since Toni was nicer to him, he looks to him. “Name.”

Toni’s eyes widen, but he stammers out “A-Antonio Fernández Carriedo y Nicolás Alejandro Carriedo.”

I’m not even surprised when Sebastian writes Toni’s name in sprawling, lax cursive over the more expensive check and half-heartedly scrawls his dad’s name over the cheaper one.

My brother tears both checks from the book, sticks his copy in the back, and hands Toni his check. Toni goes bright red and hides his face in his hands.

Sebastian holds out the check to his dad. “I don’t like you, but this will roundabout benefit him. So here. Don’t waste it. Get yourself a decent house.”

He accepts it suspiciously and inspects it for fraud. But Sebastian never fakes checks like that one, so his search ends in naught. He folds the check in quarters and pockets it, mutters something, and drops to the ground.

Toni doesn’t even look for fraud in his check. He pockets it carefully, then takes a shy step forward towards Sebastian. Sebastian pockets the book and now-closed pen, and the moment his hands are back out of his pockets Toni leaps forward and throws his arms around him.

Sebastian is a little startled, but after a second responds in kind and answers Toni’s choked ‘thank you’ with a simple “You deserve better,” immediately followed by the deeper and softer, “You deserve the love you keep trying to give everyone else.”

They stay like that for awhile. Once he’s calmer Toni releases Sebastian, then steps forward to hug me. “You didn’t have to do that. I saw you pull out your phone but I never thought—”

He stops and buries overwhelmed little sobs in my shoulder. “Thank you.”

I don’t hug people. Ever. I hardly ever hug my brothers. Touch tends to bring flashbacks like pulsating erratic lights in horror movies littered with screams.

After an initial bout of surprise, I move to hug him back. “Like Seb said: you deserve the love you keep trying to give everyone else, or at  _ least  _ even a portion of that.”

It takes him a couple minutes, but he relaxes and calms. He steps back and stumbles an apology, but I shake my head and don’t let him. “You have nothing to apologize for. We should be thanking you, not the other way around, and don’t try and argue with that because you’d be wrong.”

He opens his mouth to protest, then shuts it again. I breathe and dig my hands into my jacket pockets. “Besides, isn’t the goal to be rich enough you can actually help people who need it and not need to worry about the money?”

“Yes,” Sebastian says even though it wasn’t aimed at him.

Toni laughs. “I guess.”

“You guessed right. What goes around comes around, Toni. You saved a lot of people, and karma brings that good fortune right back to you.”


End file.
